Like a Phoenix from the Ashes
by Morsmordre Maiden
Summary: The war is finally over, and now everyone must attempt a normal life. What do you do when your reason for existing is completed? T for language and death and gore and stuff.
1. Prologue

A/N: This is my first fan fiction ever. Admittedly, a few times I attempted one, but this is the only one that has gotten off the ground. Please be gentle with any critiques you may have, but don't sugarcoat it. I love feedback on my work, whether it's praise or constructive criticism. I'll see whether or not to write more based on any reviews I might receive. A few of the deaths are influenced by Arabella and Zsenya's After The End, which can be viewed on Sugar Quill, but the story itself is mine. I do, however, recommend their fanfic. Enjoy!

DISCLAIMER: If I owned the Harry Potter universe, I wouldn't be writing fan fiction. All the magic comes from the mind of JK Rowling, and I claim only the events and plot of the story that follows.

Prologue

War has always been romanticized, sugar-coated, made to look like quite the honorable thing. Those who have known it aren't quite so willing to embrace this image of killing as righteous. But the veterans, the families of empty bodies, the orphans with haunted eyes, and the ones who survived only to wish they had not... they all know better. Nightmares, memories of terror, dread, and death, would haunt each and every man, woman, or child that was capable of thought. Memories of anger, hatred, pain, grief, and terrible loss. A loss so deep that it carved through the heart and burned the soul.

It was the fifteenth of August, early morning. The sun, as if frightened of what it might uncover with its light, was rising slowly above the horizon, timidly peering through smog and shadow to the clearing in a forest that served as the yard for a gargantuan structure. Littering the emerald lawn were bodies - some were old and frail, others strong, in the height of their adulthood. Still more were small, helpless, the bodies of those who had never received a first kiss. There was little bloodshed. It seemed strange that, in the midst of it all, a group of no more than ten stood huddled together, not speaking. There was little noise, little movement. Even the lake seemed oddly still. The wind no longer built up tiny ripples in the water. Instead it stood like a vast, cold mirror, awaiting those first rays of sunlight. The first rays of hope. Perhaps the eldest of the group spoke first, her voice weary and heavy with the loss they had all felt.

"We need rest. All of us. I'll see to it that the bodies are collected." Her voice faltered slightly, and she turned, moving away from the rest of the group. For a long moment, nobody else moved, nor did they speak. The silence seemed a comfort and an insult. Then, slowly, as if only moving by instinct, the cluster dispersed indoors. Here and there a pair clung to one another, hands comfortingly placed themselves on shoulders, but still no one spoke. There were two that remained alone, away from the comforting touch of a friend; one stationed himself in the front of the group, the other far behind. The freckle-faced redhead at the front remained silent, but walked so quickly it was difficult to remember that he had not slept for what could have been days. The other was slow, but not sluggish. He seemed to float along behind the others with a ghostlike glide. Even his eyes, once such a striking green, were now pale and grey in the moonlight, void of the fire that once burned within them. And still the silence went unbroken.

There are those lucky ones in the world who will never hear the sound of a bullet striking flesh, will never be able to smell death in its thickest, most repugnant form. They will never know the feeling of watching a soul leave the eyes of the person they love. The ten people that entered the fortress before them were not among those blessed people. Nor, unfortunately, was the silvery-blond boy they had left behind, sobbing silently over the empty corpses that had once been his parents. No one came to squeeze his shoulder and murmur comforting words in his ear. He was, once again, alone.

One Week Later

The Great Hall felt empty without the noise and the crowded tables. There were chairs gathered around a single table, covered with food. Harry stared at his plate. His stomach seemed to have shrunk considerably since the food appeared. He had forced only three forkfuls of a strange, spicy pasta into his mouth when he nudged his plate away. The sound of forks scraping plates was soft and scarce. No one else was eating much either. Meals usually took at least twenty minutes during schooltime, but this one took no longer than five. Regardless of how hungry each person seated at the table was, none seemed to have much of an appetite.

At the end of the table, the sound of a chair scraping the floor alerted them all that the Headmistress was rising to her feet. A goblet was in her hand. Harry could hear the contents sloshing slightly as her hands shook. It didn't take much for the table to fall silent; hardly anyone was speaking as it was. The candlelight cast a shadow to McGonagall's face that made her seem twice as old as she was. Then again, the weary look to her features didn't add much of a youthful glow.

"I think a toast is in order." The words were so simple. It was silly how much of a sinking feeling Harry experienced. After all he had been through - all everyone here had been through - the thought of being put on the spot once again had him on edge. Perhaps it was the memory of Dumbledore, tall and proud, lifting his goblet while his words were repeated in a buzzing murmur throughout the entire Hall: "To Harry Potter."

The strong, battle-worn hand of Harry's godfather found its way to his shoulder, and squeezed gently. Harry lifted his goblet, his expression unchanged.

"Many of our loved ones made the ultimate sacrifice so that we might sit together today. None of them shall be forgotten. I have received an owl from the Minister informing me that Ollivander has remade an exact copy of Hagrid's wand. It will be buried with him, and Fang has earned a grave next to his," McGonagall continued, her voice wavering. "He has been given the Order of Merlin, First Class, and is officially a legal wizard.

"The Order of Merlin was also awarded to George and Angelina. Luna Lovegood has been awarded the Order of Merlin, Second Class, and should she wake she will be given a full presentation ceremony. The Order of Merlin, First Class, and a full pardon by the Ministry will be awarded on the seventh of September to Severus Snape." She paused after this, her eyes dry and yet shimmering as if full of tears. "Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ronald and Ginny Weasley, and Neville Longbottom are also due to be awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class. Sirius Black has received another official pardon from the Ministry and he and Remus Lupin will also receive the Order of Merlin, First Class. Dobby will be the first house elf to receive the Order of Merlin, Third Class. Arthur and Molly Weasley, Fred Weasley, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and myself will receive the Lignum Vitae award. And Harry Potter will receive the title of First High Wizard."

This truly sparked murmurs. Harry blinked. Somewhere in the back of his mind he found a memory. Hermione was scolding him for forgetting this very title. According to her, Dumbledore had been suggested for it several times after the defeat of Grindelwald. His stomach turned over, and suddenly he found himself wishing he hadn't eaten those three forkfuls.

"No."

Several people looked around at his voice, obviously shocked that he had spoken at all. Harry, too, found himself surprised at his own voice. Suddenly he found himself struck dumb again, but even more surprising, he found that McGonagall did not argue.

"The toast, then." She raised her glass, her voice more grave than Harry had ever heard it before. "To those who fought, and those who fell. There is no award to express our gratitude and our grief. And to those who ended the war," she paused, her eyes moving not only over Harry, but over the entire table. "Thank you."

They drank in unison, and when McGonagall sat again, Harry was sure he saw tears on her cheeks. He lowered his eyes to his plate in silence. The others attempted to eat, but to no avail. Soon there was chattering around the table, light-hearted attempts to drown out the feelings everyone harbored in their hearts.

The dinner was over, and he rose to leave. For a moment, Harry almost felt like laughing. Since Tonks, Flitwick, and Moody had recovered and joined them, they were thirteen at a table. The urge to laugh quickly turned to the stony feeling he'd experienced all week. Trelawney's Seeing abilities were just the thing the Death Eaters needed. Her kidnapping had upset even Hermione. The news of her murder - undoubtedly after Voldemort discovered that her Visions were few and far between - reached Hogwarts just days ago.

Harry suddenly felt a great surge of emotion. He was filled with anger, pain, guilt, and a surprising twinge of fear. For more than seven years Harry had faced the Dark Lord without a trace of fear, and now it threatened to grow within him. He found himself frightened of the murderer, the cruel, heartless man (could he be called a man?) with his high, cold laugh. How foolish. Voldemort was gone forever, and, after all the death and horror, Harry was finally afraid of his parents' murderer.


	2. Chapter One: Rude Awakening

A/N: Well my friends and my parents both really liked the first chapter. My best friend, David, said I had to write more. I believe the word he used was "NOW". I'm in Illinois at the moment, six hundred miles from home, because my dad has a class reunion and we're visiting for the weekend. I promised David two more chapters by the time I return. Here's one of those.

DISCLAIMER: I wish I owned Harry Potter. But you can wish in one hand…. It's only my creation in my dreams. JK is the genius, I am just a fangirl.

Chapter One

Rude Awakening

"Beautiful service… Not a dry eye… pity he couldn't see…."

"Shh! You'll wake him!"

"Mum. He's been sleeping for three days. Someone ought to wake him up."

"Hush now, Charlie. He'll come out when he's ready."

"Charlie is right, Molly. It isn't healthy."

Harry sat up, watching the door in silence. Before the final battle a few weeks ago, he might have felt guilty for taking up Percy's old room and refusing human contact of any kind. Perhaps it was cruel of him not to attend Snape or Angelina's funerals, or even George's memorial service. He found it strange, however, that when he searched inside himself for a scrap of guilt or a hint of shame, he found only emptiness.

"Will the three of you shut up already? I'd bet my broomstick that he's listening to you bicker right now."

Any other time, Ginny's frank interruption with the startling truth might have drawn a snort of laughter from Harry, or at least a smile. Instead, he vaguely registered the humor of her statement in the back of his mind. No one else laughed either. Or perhaps they had… the moment was already lost. He lay back again, slipping into yet another unnecessary sleep for a few hours' time.

"Ginny, _no_. Let him alone. Mum said—"

"I _know_ what Mum said, Ron. Now step aside or I'll hex you."

The door to Percy's bedroom swung open and Harry lifted a hand involuntarily against the sudden intrusion of daylight. His haven of warmth and darkness, of loneliness and silence, was ripped away. The thick lump of quilts and blankets under which he had burrowed had been unceremoniously thrown off of him. Harry opened his eyes again, squinting up at the blur of red hair over him.

"Get out of that bed, Harry Potter, before I spray it down with so much water you'll never want to sleep in it again—and don't you think I won't do it!" The figure over him reminded him sharply of a younger, thinner, and (if possible) stricter Mrs. Weasley. Her fists were curled tightly on her waist rather than her hips and she looked as though she would drown him if he didn't get up. He fumbled for his glasses and shoved them onto the bridge of his nose.

"What's going on?" he asked stupidly. His voice was hoarse, and he winced at the sound. It was as though he had dined on gravel and crushed glass for the past year.

"You're going to get your lazy arse out of that bed or you'll be sneezing up bat guano for the rest of your miserable life. Get _up_!" As if to punctuate her statement, Ginny stabbed her wand at him and he was hit square in the face with a jet of water. He spluttered and shook his head, raising his arms to fend off any further attacks from the girl before him.

"Okay! Okay, just… Don't _do_ that again." He scrambled out of the bed, wiping his face on a blanket and catching himself on the night table before him. Ginny covered a laugh (badly) and held out a hand to steady him.

"I'd help out a bit more, but nobody cast a Jelly-Legs on you. Maybe your legs have atrophied. Maybe your brain did, too," she added as an afterthought, her eyes twinkling in the afternoon sun.

"Shut it, you," Harry retorted. He ran a hand back through his hair, expecting another witticism from the girl next to him. He was surprised when it didn't come. He realized with a sinking feeling that he wouldn't have laughed if she had come up with the greatest riposte of the decade. He ruffled his hair again.

"What's today?" he muttered, shuffling through the trunk at the end of the bed. He heard a rustle behind him and suppressed a sigh. He wouldn't have been surprised if she'd walked off.

"The twenty-sixth. I'm giving you five minutes to get dressed, and then you're coming with Fred and me to lunch in London. Besides, we need your help with these Muggle clothes." Ginny swept out and closed the door behind her. Harry shook his head and almost smiled. The last time Fred had gone out to lunch in London, he, Harry, had had to explain to quite a few people that his friends were 'disabled'. That was the only reasonable explanation for a grown man wearing short shorts and a bright pink belly shirt and his twin dressed in a tennis outfit with hiking boots.

Harry's lighthearted mood vanished at the thought of George, and he dressed with a frown. Undoubtedly Fred would be thinking of that same incident.

Minutes later he emerged from the small room wearing jeans and a slightly wrinkled polo shirt that had once fit perfectly. It now made him look like a starved child. Ginny glanced up from the bag she'd been looking through and nodded in approval.

"Oh, good, you're ready. I thought we might Apparate to the Ministry car lot and pick up the car. Dad managed to convince them to enchant the cars to drive themselves so we can just _look_ like we know what we're doing. So, do you want to drive or shall I? I'm afraid to let Fred for obvious reasons." She grinned at Fred and tossed her hair. Fred forced a smile back.

_Well, this will be a lovely afternoon,_ Harry thought. He didn't know how Ginny would manage to keep her sanity about her with only himself and Fred for company. She'd started talking again, and Harry shook himself mentally out of whatever trance he'd fallen into.

"…of course, but the Lignum Vitae presentation was absolutely beautiful. McGonagall cried, and I think everyone was shocked. I know I was. She even had her hair down and curled and oh, Harry, she looked so pretty."

It wasn't until recently that Harry really began to appreciate what Ron meant when he said they had difficulty getting his sister to shut up. Harry became dimly aware that his mouth was open and closed it quickly.

"Yeah. Erm. What's the Lignim Veetay?" he muttered out of the corner of his mouth. It was not the first time in his life that Harry had felt stupid for being oblivious to things that were common in the Wizarding world.

"It's an award. Lignum Vitae is a really rare wood. Most wand makers only make about one every century or so out of Lignum Vitae. It was the wood in Merlin's wand. That's why it's really famous. Everyone that gets the award gets a display wand crafted from Lignum Vitae. It obviously doesn't work as well as the wizard's regular wand, but it's not bad to have around. Sort of the way that Muggles get swords or knives for awards in the military. They do get swords, right? Not to use, but just to hang above the mantle?"

Harry nodded, his head feeling as if it weren't getting enough oxygen.

"Right. Anyway, our reservations are for one o'clock, and we've got to choose these clothes. So… you choose and we'll go change and we can leave." Ginny flashed him a grin, and Harry's stomach sank. He never had been very good at picking clothes out. The Dursleys never gave him a chance. He peered into the bags and pulled out a pair of jeans and a tee-shirt for some Muggle band he'd never heard of, holding them out to Fred. Fred took them wordlessly and moved off to change.

"I wish he would laugh again. It's so depressing. It's… It's like we've lost both of the twins," Ginny murmured. Harry glanced up in surprise. He'd never expected her to talk about the deaths in her family.

"He just needs time to come around, you know? He may not be the same, but he'll be a lot better after he's had… time." Harry kicked himself mentally. How would he know? He'd barely had time to come around after Sirius's 'death' when his godfather had suddenly shown back up again with a fascinating tale about the Himalayas.

"I hope so. We've all suffered, but dwelling on it just makes it hurt more." Ginny spoke softly, and it sounded as though she was afraid to say something wrong. Harry muttered his agreement and pulled out a black skirt and light blue top, holding them out to her without looking at her. She took them and thanked him quietly before moving off to change.

Harry leaned against the wall, sighing and closing his eyes. A tiny smile lightened his face. Perhaps it wasn't even a smile. He just felt his face soften, as if he had been wearing a scowl and only just stopped frowning. He had just unearthed a memory of the twins, each of them clapping a hand on one of his shoulder while they persuaded and coerced him to be the guinea pig for their trick brooms. He never had agreed. Now one of them was gone and the other seemed to have lost that perpetual happiness. Harry could only imagine what he was like. Ginny was definitely a brave girl.


	3. Chapter Two: London When it Sizzles

A/N: Sorry it's so short. My brain kind of fizzled today. Thanks for all the great reviews!

DISCLAIMER: They make me write this because they're cruel people that want me to come to terms with the fact that I'll never own the HP universe. So there. It's JK's. Jerks.

Chapter Two

London When it Sizzles

As Harry climbed from the Ministry car and walked in silence toward the outdoor café. He glanced over toward Ginny, admiring his choice in clothing for the fifth time since they'd started out of the Burrow. Ginny's hair looked like spun copper in the sunlight. Perhaps that's what the Statue of Liberty had looked like long ago, before it had aged. Ginny certainly was statuesque. Her face looked as though it could have been carved into white marble. Flawless. Harry lowered his eyes to the menu in front of him, scanning over the items. He could feel Fred's slouched form in the chair next to him and a great swell of pity broke over Harry. He felt as though he should say something, but the words wouldn't come.He felt quite grateful when a waitress approached their table.

"Can I help you?" she asked boredly, doodling on a notepad and not making eye contact with any of the patrons at the table in front of her. Ginny tossed a glance to Harry, pleading for help. Harry smiled faintly and glanced up at the waitress.

"Erm, we'd like three hamburger baskets, thanks," he muttered. The waitress walked off without a word, and Harry turned his attention to Fred, who was spinning a toothpick in his fingers. The loss of George had really destroyed him. Harry's stomach writhed. Fred's spirit had once seemed unbreakable. Untouchable, even... But now he seeme to have lost all of that happiness that had brought a smile to Harry's face when he felt like screaming.

"After lunch I thought we could go looking at some shops around London, and then maybe go into town."

Harry couldn't have been more relieved that Ginny broke the silence. He shot her a grateful smile, which she returned brightly. He found it odd in the middle of the summer that goosebumps popped up on his arms. Fred was nodding in silence, and that guilty feeling returned to Harry's mind. Ginny came to the rescue again.

"Fred, sit up, the food's arrived." She sat up straight, and Fred followed suit. Three baskets of fries, a pickle spear, and a hamburger were placed on the table in front of each of them. Harry couldn't help but be amazed at the speed with which Ginny began to devour her own meal. He felt another smile prickling the corners of his lips as he, too, dug into the hot food. It was delicious, and the grunts coming from Fred somewhere between mouthfuls spoke that clearly enough. Harry took a sip of the lemonade he'd ordered. The sip turned to a gulp. He had forgotten just how hungry he was, and so had the two redheads at the table with him. Fred came up for a breath just as Harry glanced over at him over the top of his glass. There was ketchup smeared halfway across the older Weasley's face.

Harry had never before experienced the painful feeling of ice cold liquid, chock full of citric acid, shooting at a high speed from his nostrils. By the time he'd gotten napkins to his face and blown his nose free of the sugary-sour liquid, half the café was staring at him. He blinked watery eyes and stared across the table at Ginny. She was doubled over, laughing so hard that no sound escaped her lips. Her fries were soaked. Fred seemed not to have noticed. He was still in danger of choking on his own food. Harry felt the sun grow hotter on his face and muttered an apology, holding out his own basket of fries sheepishly. They were still dry and lemon-free. Ginny tossed her head back and laughed harder. Her hair fell over her shoulders in a long cascading curtain of scarlet, and Harry felt another smile tugging at his features despite himself.

It should not have come as such a surprise when the rude waitress stopped by their table to ask the trio to leave. Fred had finished his own burger and was tasting Ginny's lemony fries between chuckles of his own. Together, he and Harry had to support Ginny back toward the car.

It took Ginny a good half an hour to calm down, and by then she was so winded from laughing that she'd nearly collapsed in the back seat. Harry and Fred grinned at each other silently as they drove through Muggle London. Harry was the driver again by default. Fred, who had only ever driven the flying Ford Anglia, kept trying to shift into flying mode or hit the invisibility booster. Ginny was worse. She didn't understand why she couldn't turn around in the seat to talk to Harry while they were driving.

After they were kicked out of another store when Fred tried to pay in Monopoly money, Ginny dragged them both into a clothing shop. While she went through the clothes and makeup, Harry and Fred were forced to lurk in the back corner of the shop.

"Think I'd look good in that skirt, Harry?" Fred muttered, nodding to a very short skirt that Ginny was holding up to the two of them. Harry snickered and gave a shrug.

"I think your mum and dad would be more willing to see you in it than their daughter." Fred nodded in agreement and gave Ginny the thumbs-down on the skirt. She glowered and hung the skirt back up.

"Can I try paying again?" Fred asked, looking over at Harry hopefully. Harry snorted.

"I don't think they accept fake money here either. Sorry," he said with a grin. Fred laughed quietly.

"That joke shop was rubbish anyway. Fake dog dirt? I could make real dog dirt if I needed."

Harry laughed. Fred's improved mood was a relief. A voice from behind him made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

"Are you two ready? When we've gotten all this, I want to head to the Leaky Cauldron and visit some people. Harry, can you pay for this?" Ginny said, and Harry turned to find her holding an armful of makeup and at least six new outfits. He nodded and could have sworn he heard a snigger from behind him.

"Sure."

"Oh Good. I'll go start up the car. Come on, Fred."

Fred shot Harry a pitying look and the two siblings swept out of the shop, leaving Harry with his arms full of dresses and lipstick. He dumped the lot on the counter and ignored the smirk that the clerk was wearing. Perhaps everyone in Muggle London today was rude. He fished out his wallet and pulled out a few twenty-pound notes. The clerk rang everything up and grinned unpleasantly.

"Perhaps you'd like something more in your color?" the woman said, holding up a tube of lipstick. Harry flushed and took the bags, moving out of the shop without waiting for his change.

He climbed into the driver's seat, handing the bag back to Fred, who had taken up the back seat. The hot leather of the seats burned Harry's arms, but his face was burning hotter. He placed his hands on the wheel.

"The Leaky Cauldron."

With a sputtering lurch, the car took off toward his chosen destination.


	4. Chapter Three: A Day to Remember

**A/N:** Okay, I'm really cracking down and working hard on this. I'm really awful at staying dedicated to a story, but I want this one to succeed. David's still helping me out, so he still gets credit for busting my chops every time I think of quitting on this story. Thanks, man. It means a lot to me. Also, I really appreciate all the reviews I've gotten. Generally I only get negative feedback on my stories, so I'm really thankful that I've gotten this kind of welcome. Thanks to everyone who made this possible. I'd like to thank eloquentsilence and The-Legend-Begins for their stories. I've read them and they're inspiring me to keep going. If you haven't already, check out their stuff. It's really great.

As far as this goes, I started writing it before HBP came out, and as such, some of this stuff doesn't fit into the HBP plotlines. The story is taking place after Hogwarts, obviously, when Harry and the rest are legal adults in the Muggle world as well as the wizarding world. This is why some of the stuff contradicts what's happened in HBP. The relationships that occurred in the sixth book have not occurred in this story. Hope that's helpful, as a couple people IMed me with a bit of confusion.

I wrestled with doing this chapter from Harry's POV, but I'd written a really nice first paragraph from Ginny's, so I might do an alternate chapter so you can read that version of events. I know it's kind of random to do a chapter from Ginny's POV in the middle of all Harry, but my motto's "Why the hell not?"

Finally, I apologize that it's been so long since I've updated. I've got a lot of problems with keeping a story going, which is why I respect all of you that manage to do it. I've got school starting August 11th (Ginny's birthday!) and I have only just started on my summer projects. For the record, I hate Nathaniel Hawthorne. Again, I promise to try harder in the future. I give you all permission to smack me around if I cop out on my storywriting. Be gentle, though. I bruise easily.

**DISCLAIMER: The first step to recovery is acceptance. I therefore accept that I do not own Harry Potter and never will. Excuse me. I think I need some time alone to cope with this.**

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Chapter Three

A Day to Remember

The pale, handsome face of the young man she had come to trust and love was growing closer. Chills ran through her body, but she couldn't move away. Something was drastically wrong. His kind voice was rough and mocking. Something about it made the urge to scream almost unbearable. Then came the laugh. The high, cold laugh that she'd never before heard outside of her nightmares. Realization dawned on her, but by then it was too late. The damp, drafty air in the chamber's corridor swept past her face as she fell to the cobblestones, her hair matted against the chilly water that had dripped upon the floor. One single thought kept hope shining dimly in the vast darkness of her soul. One single thread to which she clung for her life.

_He'll come for me._

Ginny sat bolt upright in bed, breathing hard and fast. The morning light was bright through the girls' window, illuminating the shadowy shape of her slumbering roommate. Ginny raised a hand to her forehead, swallowing several times and willing her breathing to slow. A nightmare. That's all. She climbed out of bed, pulling her dressing gown around her shoulders and tying it loosely at the waist. Everyone else had probably already eaten.

Her bare feet padded quietly across the floor before she slipped them into a pair of houseshoes and headed down the stairs. A shiver overwhelmed her the instant she stepped out into the hallway. There was a scent that chilled her bones. A nauseating, sweet smell that seemed familiar, though Ginny knew she had never smelled its likeness. Dread settled into her stomach as she started down the stairs once again. Each step she took brought her nearer to the nauseating smell. She stopped about halfway down, covering her mouth as her stomach lurched.

A hand clasped her shoulder, and she nearly screamed, her hand going for her wand.

"Gin! Stop, it's me! It's us!"

It was the voice that struck her. Perhaps she had somehow conjured him from her hopes. She turned, heart slamming against her breastbone, and stared up at the three people she'd been praying to find. Had she not been so panicked, she would have found it humorous the way they stood - Harry in front, wand out, his eyes fixed on her with such determination that it sent another chill down her spine. Then came Hermione, eyes wide with apprehension, staring straight into Ginny's own as if she could read the younger girl, find her answers that books could not give. Holding Hermione's shoulder so tightly it must have hurt the girl was Ron, his face as pale as Ginny's felt, freckles standing out against his skin. He seemed too sickened by the scent and by worry to speak, and his lips were pressed tight into a white line.

"What's going on? What's that smell?" Harry asked, his bright green eyes moving past her and down the stairs.

"I.. I'm not sure. It doesn't smell like breakfast, that's for sure." Ginny gulped after she spoke, starting down the stairs until her foot hit the last step, and then the floor beneath it. It was eerily still around them all, and she didn't like it in the slightest. The smell seemed to be coming from the large oak doors in front of them, leading into the dining area. Ginny exchanged a wordless glance with her friends, and they all nodded in unison, as if thinking the same thing. Harry held up three fingers. Then two. Then only one.

"_Alohamora!_" the four shouted simultaneously. Ginny found herself immediately wishing they hadn't. The doors burst open and the stench nearly made her swoon. The sight was unbearable. People she knew and recognized lay in their own blood, a few still screaming, trying desperately to fight off the Death Eaters that had flooded their sanctuary. Ginny heard a scream and it took a long moment before she realized that she was the one uttering it.

A familiar face turned from the throng, staring straight at her. Lestrange.

The curse came before Ginny could even hear the words. She knew somehow that she had to prepare herself, and knew that she could not. Intense pain curled her toes and threatened to stretch her pores wide with the fire that burned within her skin. She was dimly aware that she was still standing through it all, as though she were incapable of even falling to the ground. There was a large rustling around her, and she thought she saw streaks of brown and red go past her, down the stairs and toward the open doors.

And then the pain was gone. Harry stood before her, his wand poised at the figure of Lestrange. The woman was engulfed in flames, and Ginny was dimly aware of the scent of burning flesh and hair. She screamed and screamed, running in a frenzy, attempting to wave the flames off of her.

Ginny lost sight of her after that, her eyes sweeping around as her brother and Hermione took on what could have been an entire army of full-grown Dark wizards. She pulled her wand, pointing it forward, but the pain had numbed her brain, and she could not think.

The flat, snakelike face of something less than a man swam into view through her blurred vision, and Ginny felt herself rocketing back to awareness. A spell shot from the end of her wand at the man, but he waved his own wand and the jet of light hit one of his supporters, wrapping him in thin, sturdy black ropes.

"_Avada Kedavra!_" A high, cold voice spoke above all the rest, and a flash of green tore across the open space before the four friends.

Ginny knew she was dying, knew the spell would strike and that she would be no more... but she could not find fear in that thought. She turned to look at Harry, just as the jet of bright green light struck his chest. He fell, fell for eternity, and when he landed upon the cold stone floor beneath her, his eyes stared straight into her own. But they saw nothing. She watched his scar fade away. She watched Harry die.

"NO!" Her scream was short, cut off by a choking in her throat that she couldn't swallow away. He was gone. He was really gone.

"Ginny! Ginny, move!" Ron's voice shouted from somewhere nearby, but sounding so far away. It was too late.

"_AVADA KEDAVRA!_" Lestrange bellowed. Ginny felt herself falling down, down... down toward Harry. She would see him again.

She fell toward the cobblestones, and landed upon a soft mattress with a shout.

"Ginny! Ginny, wake up!"

She was suddenly aware of a weight down by her waist. Someone was sitting next to her on her bed. It was all a dream. All a memory twisted into a dream. Her eyes focused slowly in the sunlight of the morning, settling on the bushy-haired form of her closest girlfriend.

"I'm awake. I'm okay." The statement was a bit of a lie. She was drenched with a cold, terrified sweat, and a strand of hair was plastered to her forehead. Hermione had both of her shoulders in her grasp, which she released when Ginny spoke.

"Are you sure?" Hermione asked softly, her eyes full of anxiety and worry for the younger girl. Ginny nodded slightly.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I was wondering if you had them too. Everybody else does." Hermione smiled, standing and laying a change of Muggle clothes on the bed next to Ginny's feet. "Time to get up, then. Your mum's made the most wonderful breakfast, as always."

Ginny smiled faintly, sitting up and pulling on the outfit Hermione had put out for her. The girls sat in silence for a few minutes, which was broken by the banging of the ghoul in the attic.

"So... you've had them too? Memory nightmares?" Ginny asked softly. Hermione nodded. "Do they ever... change from what actually happened?"

"Like what?" Hermione replied, her head tilting to the side curiously.

"...People dying that didn't die."

Understanding dawned on Hermione's face and she stood, wrapping an arm around the younger girl's shoulders. Ginny started to move away, but found the weight comforting.

"Why can't I just forget it? Move past it? I want things to be like normal. Like they were before Voldemort came back."

"I know, Ginny. You're just... going through a really tough time right now. We all are. It's never going to be the same." Hermione spoke with such an air of assurance that Ginny felt calmed. She nodded and moved to her dresser, brushing out her hair in silence.

"We should head downstairs, then," Ginny said after a minute or two of quiet. Hermione nodded and moved out, the redhead following shortly afterward.

"You look beautiful, darling. Even in Muggle clothing," her mirror quipped as she slipped out the door and down the stairs. Ginny couldn't supress a small smile.

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**A/N:** As one of the better authors on this site said, sometimes a chapter just ends itself and there's nothing you can do about it. I would've rather made this a bit longer to make up for the short chapters I've been writing recently, and for the long break I've taken, but it just ended itself. I'm really sorry.

If anyone has any questions, like the questions about Lignum Vitae and the HBP working into this plot, don't hesitate to drop me a message or AIM me at MorsmordreMaiden. :)

David gave me the idea for this chapter, and I tweaked it quite a bit. I hope it does him justice. Go David! Go David!

Please review. I love reading every review I get, it just boosts my self esteem and the will to write more. I'm not going to be one of those who refuses to update until they get so many reviews, but it really does help to hear how people are receiving my work. Thanks to everyone that's reviewed so far, as you've really kept me in place.


	5. Chapter Four: Phantom Pains

**A/N:** I REALLY shouldn't be writing this. Should be doing my summer project. So you should all be very, very thankful that my muse is biting my ear off in order to get me to write. Stupid muses. As of right now I'm not going to do anything further on the previous chapter, so no alternate chapters at the moment. If the mood strikes, that might change, but for now it's just that one.

Before I updated with the third chapter, I had 447 views and 7 reviews on this story. Right now (as I'm typing this) I have 645 views and 7 reviews. Two hundred views without a single review! Don't you love me anymore?

Again, David is my other muse. The one that doesn't bite my ear. Though we all know he'd like to. Tosses hair

**DISCLAIMER: No, Ms. Rowling, Harry Potter stories will never bring me a penny, as I don't own them. Have fun with your billions. Grumble mumble**

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Chapter Four

Phantom Pains

Harry was halfway through his third plate of eggs when Mrs. Weasley finally stopped forcing more food toward him. He finished the last few mouthfuls of his breakfast just as there came a creak on the stairs leading into the kitchen. His heart leapt and his hand moved slightly toward his wand. Adrenaline was still rushing through his system as he reminded himself that it was all over. A thing of the past. Slowly, still desperately trying to calm his jumping nerves, Harry turned to see who was coming into the kitchen. His heart did another somersault, ice settling somewhere in his stomach.

"Hey, Ginny. Hermione. Morning," he said pathetically. Ginny had taken to wearing Hermione's old Muggle clothes. She'd deemed them much more comfortable than the hot robes that usually had her sweating all summer long. The sleeveless blue top that she wore today showed off her shoulders, freckled and dainty. Harry stood suddenly, moving his eyes away from the youngest Weasley and quickly to Hermione. She had a glow in her eye that he wasn't sure he liked.

"Morning, Harry!" Hermione chirped, moving past him to scoop up some eggs and toast for Ginny and herself. Harry grabbed his glass of orange juice, gulping it down so quickly that it burned a cold feeling into the back of his eyes. He lifted his wand, carefully settling the glass in the sink and washing it with another flick of the wand in his hand. He heard the sound of wooden chair legs being dragged across the floor and felt a sudden tingling sensation on his skin where Ginny's elbow brushed his forearm. He jerked his arm back as if scalded, and saw her do the same, though admittedly in a less obvious way. Her cheeks were just a little red around the bit that puffed up when she smiled, down to the area where her dimples appeared and across the bridge of her nose. It seemed to follow the light spray of freckles on her face and pinken the skin beneath it, giving her the innocent look of a country farm girl or a finely painted doll.

When Harry looked away, he caught Hermione watching him pointedly, a self-assured grin on her face. He suddenly felt nauseous. With a mumbled explanation that he was going out for a breather, he pushed open the kitchen door and gulped in the unconfined air greedily. Damn. Things hadn't changed a jot since schooltime. Hermione was still capable of making him uncomfortable with that ridiculous omniscient smirk of hers. No wonder it had taken Ron so long to approach her. Harry felt it was hardly fair that she made _him_ uncomfortable when he didn't even think of her that way. Typical Hermione, nosing into things she knew absolutely everything about. With a groan, Harry started off toward the garden, pushing his hand back through his hair. As if things weren't difficult enough already.

He watched over the hilltop, down into the village where people were beginning to go to work and open stores and get the hard work done early so they wouldn't be caught in the heat of the day with grueling tasks still before them. Harry smiled faintly at how meaningless that particular morning was to most of them. Just another day. Most of them didn't realize that, a year ago on that very day, a battle had raged on the very ground where Harry stood. They didn't know that a half-giant had made the ultimate sacrifice.

Harry's smile faded. Hagrid's death had torn a hole in his heart, along with all the other holes already in it. He took a small step to the left, then another, and moved forward in the garden, stepping through Mrs. Weasley's rows of gingerroot and stopping in the center of a line of rosemary. This was where he'd stood. He could feel it, somehow. His feet had been just here when he watched the spells strike the chest of the first friend Harry had ever made.

It had taken three to kill him. Three consecutive curses fired straight at his great, loving heart. He had been locked in a battle with Lestrange's husband when Malfoy, Nott, and Macnair had advanced on him from the left. Hagrid had stepped in front of them, using his umbrella to strike out at them rather than cast spells. Harry had turned his head just as his scar began to burn...

Harry gasped, his hand clasping over his forehead as pain shot through it, fresh as the days before the Death Eaters fell. _Fell_... Hagrid's huge form fell backward, toppling onto the ground where a bed of daisies was now planted.

The pain in his scar was building steadily, dreadfully. Spots appeared before his eyes as he fell to his knees. Memories of the Cruciatus Curse tearing at his nerve endings ripped through Harry. That was the only thing to which he could compare it. It was the same intense, overwhelming pain from which he knew there would never be release. No release but death. But no... _Crucio_ had never allowed him to think. Not when he'd hung limply in his chains, screaming for death on the grave of Voldemort's father.

Voldemort's name echoed in his mind, and he had to force himself to remember. _No. Not Voldemort. He's dead. He's gone._ The pain stopped. Tears were pouring down his face and he stood, moving to sit next to the flower bed, his hand hovering over the sea of petals. That was it. The pain was not from a curse, but from his memory. It was the pain his heart felt when he watched Hagrid die... when he watched Sirius fall. He heard footsteps coming toward him from the house, and quickly stood, wiping his face with the palms of his hands.

"It's been a year."

Harry was startled. He'd expected Hermione or Ron. He turned, looking up to Ginny with wide eyes. Her own were red, as if she'd been crying instead of him.

"Yeah. I didn't think anyone else remembered." He winced inwardly. How stupid of him. He didn't think she'd remember the last day she saw George? Harry wasn't sure if he expected her to laugh at him or storm off. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't a positive reaction.

"Neither did I. Well... that's not true. I thought everyone else would just forget about it. Make themselves forget, I mean. Try not to think about it." She seemed to be stumbling over her words. There was a tense, awkward silence, during which Harry felt a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips. Quite suddenly, the two of them were laughing softly, and he was torn inside. Part of him thought he was disrespecting the people who had died here. The other part laughed and waved that thought away. Harry smiled down at Ginny. Maybe it would be more disrespectful to be gloomy all the time.

Or maybe he just couldn't help wanting to smile.

The two of them moved back inside in comfortable silence. Harry's gaze was held on the wave of crimson hair in front of him. For a fleeting moment, he felt his hand rising, wanting to brush against the smooth red strands. The scarlet sheen was glowing in the morning sun. Harry was reminded of the red and gold banners that hung in Gryffindor Tower. The light of the sun reflected off of her hair, giving it an angelic golden glow in some places, the shadows a deep, rich red in contrast. He shook his head, blinking furiously. It was just _hair_. Ron had the same hair and Harry had never marveled at the way it shone. Then again, Ron's hair had never been _so_ red. Orangey, perhaps. But this was liquid ruby.

Harry opened the kitchen door, held it open for Ginny, and she stepped past him, smiling up to him. He felt his stomach squeeze into a knot. He stepped into the kitchen after her, closing the door behind him and following Ginny past the stairway to the living room. He started to step in after her when she stopped suddenly, and he walked into her, immediately taking a leaping step backward.

"Gin, what're you--?" Harry started, only to be cut short by what he saw in the living room. His hand went to his wand, his jaw fell open, and the bottom dropped out of his stomach. Harry suddenly felt very, very sick.

**A/N: **Haha! A cliffhanger for you! Other authors on this site refuse to update if they don't get reviews. I just torture you with cliffies! Mbwaha! Psst... it's short. I know. But when I saw this cliffhanger I just had to stop. I really went back and forth with ending it a paragraph later, so it wouldn't be this huge OO suspense thing going on, but suspense makes me giggle, so I chose against that. :)


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